Whispers of children anticipating and planning a celebration.
My ears delight in sweet voices,
full of wonder and love.
Voices speak of teddy bears and bunnies,
soft blankets like their own and a birthday box to hold it all.
My heart melts as I listen,
hanging on every word that passes through the monitor from their bedroom,
knowing that this moment will be hidden in my heart and mind forever.
Cool on my cheek and gently blowing away thoughts of the day,
the season shows its face.
Stepping on gold, red, and brown like a pathway on the cement,
while blue rests above with brilliant light.
Nature is at work,
preparing for change with gentle transitions,
as she awakens her participants and clears the air for a new day.
Come to the table just as you are,
addicted, grieving, broken, hopeless, traumatized, with mental illness, lonely and isolated,
come to the table.
Hearts of compassion and acceptance meet you,
Ears hear the depths of your pain,
Eyes see who you are,
Bread of community is shared and what was once hidden,
is illuminated, embraced, and gently felt.
Come to the table of love, where hope is restored and brothers and sisters bear the load.
The voice of a songbird an ear has never heard,
fills the sky with sweet possibilities.
She calls out to the air and her song is clear and full,
surprising the listener.
Notes of delight,
being,
present,
a song that must be sung because
She is a bird.
My son published his first book recently and gave me a signed copy with the words, “For mom, whose faith is the inspiration for my own”. I desire to leave this legacy for my family, yet faith often alludes me and I find myself falling short where I most want to grow. This is when the Divine reminds me I am not the source of faith, He set that in motion when I was very young. I can remember my first experience with my Creator. Lying in bed one night, I looked out the window and my little heart burst at the vision before me. The night sky was filled with brilliant light, thousands of stars and a moon that I knew was bigger than my house. I recall staying at the window and allowing this display to soak into me, feeling so small and insignificant. What followed this was a thought that “I was created!” Somehow my soul felt connected to the scene before me and the Creator. Questions flooded my mind like “what if I had never been born, how did He decide to create me?” My journey of faith began that night, which was a compass in the chaos I grew up in. A seed of faith was planted and grew into a longing over the years. A longing for more than I could see, a knowing that Someone bigger and greater than I could imagine, set the stars and the galaxy into place. Did He see me? Know me? Love me with all of my imperfections and doubts?
I have faith that when I wake up in the morning I will have air to breathe. I trust without any thought that I will see birds and trees and grass when I walk into my back yard. I also trust that my favorite grocery store will have all I need for meals I want to cook. I can go about my daily routine with no concerns about these constants in life. Just when I feel like I can confidently say I am a person of faith,a circumstance arises where I am reminded why faith is so difficult and at the same time necessary.
I went with a friend recently, to the Garfield Observatory in Chicago. After parking the car we walked toward the entrance where two men stopped us and began asking questions; “Did you hear about the toddler who was murdered at the lagoon? I guess they found a foot last night and a head this morning. What is your reaction to this? Can we record it?” I was speechless and sickened. This is not supposed to happen to an innocent child. Here lies the struggle,when circumstances like this horrific tragedy happen it’s too much to bear. The harshness of the world and its evil like the news of Syrian children losing their lives while searching for a better life, or young black men and women fearing violence at the hands of their own or those sworn to protect them, or churches turning their backs on those who have found love from same-sex relationships; these realities and more create doubts and questions about a Divine Presence in the world. My own loss and grief over the past fifty-three years has often caused me to ask the same questions of the Creator; “why did you allow this, why didn’t you intervene, where are you, do you care?”
There is no possible explanation to satisfy the incomprehensible evils of the world or the questions that seem to deserve an answer. There is no comfort in hearing words like, just have faith. In fact, I find more comfort in knowing I do not have answers. I cannot restore what has been lost and am content to remain in that place of unknowing today, because there is something greater than any unanswered question I might have; hope. Without hope there is no faith, all is lost and meaningless. The violent death of that innocent baby has no redemption. Faith is hope and confidence that, what I cannot explain or see today remains in the hands of a God who sees and knows the answers. I have faith that He will bring meaning and will redeem the broken and evil things of this earth. He loves His creation and is near to the brokenhearted and weeps with those who weep. I am the instrument of this hope. I can choose to turn away from hate and violence and be one who loves and trusts. One who offers compassion and gentleness to broken and angry people. I am small and seemingly insignificant, but the One who hung the stars and moon is huge, bigger than many houses.
He is writing my story, with many unexpected twists and turns, some filled with delight that have taken my breath away and others that have been like a punch in the gut. When my story is complete I would like this inscription written to my sons, daughters, and grandchildren; “Look at the stars and moon, they speak to a Creator big enough to put your faith in. He created you and loves you. He knows your name. He created you for a purpose. Trust Him when you cannot see, He is a God of redemption.”
This morning I was preparing to take an online quiz from my Human Sexuality class which had a due date of 9/13/15. Being the conscientious student that I am, I double-checked last night to make sure I was correct with the date. After planning my weekend, I chose to wait until 9/13/15, to complete the quiz. I opened up the blackboard page today and noticed a “no assignments due” for today. I opened the quiz tab and there was “no content to display”. I obviously misinterpreted the deadline of the twenty point quiz, as it was now closed. Why didn’t I just take it the first day it opened up, or the second and third day? I wasn’t in the quiz-taking mood, I had plans with my grandchildren over the weekend, or I just plain avoided it until the last minute.
I am frustrated.
I am annoyed at myself.
I missed out on a possible, easy A in the class.
I am raising the question to myself, “how often does avoidance come up in your life?”
I have spent the last four years recovering from a traumatic life experience and am happy to say I am not where I was four years ago or even six months ago. Through the support of a loving community and my Higher Power, I am taking each day as it comes and doing the work I need to do to get healthy. That sounds so cliche’ and yet it works. My most recent task in recovery was given to me in May and I committed to complete it over the summer because, having a deadline motivates me to finish. My deadline has now passed. I am frustrated, annoyed and possibly missing out on the healing that will springboard me to the next step of freedom. So why am I avoiding it?
I have come to the conclusion, unlike a twenty point quiz, my task involves revisiting several years of life, where I became overwhelmed with terror, grief, and immense pain that I do not want to experience again. I just want to walk away and forget all of it. It’s in front of me like a dark pit of quicksand where I could drown and get lost. Willing myself to engage with this darkness, that could suck the life out of me is simply ridiculous. I am stuck. The deadline has passed. I feel alone.
Ernest Hemingway says, “The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.” I love this quote as it reminds me that I am not alone. Everyone is broken and has walked in the dark. Life flows like that. All of us are faced with the harshness of life and deal with the aftermath of a sunami. This is unavoidable. The most helpful advice I can give myself or anyone is to “be present” to this moment, this day. Life is often turned upside down and is so uncertain and yet there is an organic flow that takes over and helps to bring grounding and to build trust in the process.
The process of healing is slow. There is an ebb and flow of light and darkness. Waves of grief come crashing into me like a sunami, often followed by the warmth of hope and love that renews my strength. The most difficult part is riding the wave. I don’t like water. I cannot swim. I am much more comfortable laying on the beach, under an umbrella with a picnic and good company. I am learning how to allow the waves and the pain that accompanies it without panicking because I know now that the sunshine from God is around the corner.
Avoiding it is one response to the harshness of loss and pain, but if I am totally honest with myself, I know the deadline is today. One day at a time. Today I can put a toe into the dark, murky place. Today I can check in with myself and choose to step into the task at hand and step out as well. Today I can choose to trust and hope in my Higher Power and the resources that have carried me through yesterday. I can choose to avoid the quicksand today. I will make mistakes. I will miss deadlines. I will take one day at a time, loving myself and others and take the next step.
A little boy played with army men, anthills and hot wheels,
Lost his father to mental illness and mother to trauma.
A little boy was forced to become a man at a young age,
experiencing abuse and violence
within the safety of his home and mind.
In a closet he found peace, Alone.
Locking away the part of him that bore the pain,
smiling and joking his way into adulthood.
A little boy grew and let the pain disappear,
and experienced love, babies, a career and sacrifices.
The man carried himself through life, alone in the closet.
As he grew older, the boy demanded to be heard,
he was angry, sad, lonely, abused, traumatized, unseen….
he would not remain locked away.
The man soothed him and allowed no one inside this protective room.
The isolation felt familiar, but like a moth drawn to a light he was allured by its warmth,
loneliness and detachment,
Until one day he could not manage the little boy,
even though he walked toward the familiar soothing of the “light” hoping for relief,
he found instead he was swallowed up by it.
The little boy with all his suffering and pain, disappeared.
Loss,
Like a weight bearing down on the soul and pushing memories from the past into the present,
where joy and abiding reside.
A dam of tears release unexpectedly,
as reminders that what once was, is no more.
The bond of love brings pain and joy,
a picture of grief, unbearable grief.
“Let everything happen to you,
beauty and terror.
No feeling lasts forever.”
Loss.
I have attempted and accomplished many projects, the majority for little people under the age of seven. My latest is a scooter buddy, a small bag that attaches with velcro to a child’s scooter. It has a pocket for a water bottle or favorite stuffed animal and a zipper for even smaller treasures. The scooter buddy tutorial on Pinterest came with step-by-step instructions, including pictures. I decided that even the most inexperienced seamstress like myself, could successfully make a scooter buddy.
I arrived at the fabric store with my list and the bold confidence of an amateur ready to take on the task ahead of me. My detailed list however, did not prepare me for the countless bolts of fabric of various textures and colors, that were labeled incorrectly. Not one of them said medium weight fabric or heavy weight fabric like tutorial shopping list called for. After walking many times through each aisle, I started feeling like I was lost in a forest and was walking in circles. At this point I started to have a reaction in my body. I felt my heart start to race, my confidence was replace with panic, and I started talking to myself. “I’m in a fabric store! People who shop in a fabric store know how to choose fabric! What were you thinking? Turn around and walk out. You do not want any further humiliation than what you are already experiencing, at least no one else knows.” Then I thought about how happy it would make me and my grandson to see his Perry the platypus riding in his scooter buddy down the street. I swallowed, walked to the counter, and courageously asked for suggestions. It was a short exchange between me and the fabric guru and I hid my incompetence up until the point of choosing the interfacing. She laid three choices before me. I broke out in a sweat and thought, what is interfacing?! Well what was I to do? I asked her which one she thought would be best. The choices were made, she expertly calculated and cut the exact measurements from my list and I thanked her and started breathing again and had a renewed excitement and conviction that the hardest step was behind me.
I awoke the next morning, laid out all of my supplies, dusted off my sewing machine and opened my computer to the bookmarked page, Scooter Buddy Tutorial. With the determination of a grandmother longing to see the eyes of her grandson light up, I began my task. My journey in creating the scooter buddy did not look like the step-by-step pictures on my computer. I found myself following directions and yet had several instances where I laid the fabric incorrectly and had to do it over. My seam ripper and I became very close in the next two days. How did I find myself in this predicament when the tutorial was so clear? I don’t know how to “finish” an edge. Where is that zigzag stitch? Do I have to use a different foot to install a zipper? And for heaven sake how did I end up with a inch wider piece of fabric than I should have?! I was becoming overwhelmed and had a sense of dread that my scooter buddy might end up looking like a scooter disaster or worse than that, I might need to go back to the fabric store. I pushed through the setbacks and mistakes to the final step in the project, with a deep breath I turned it inside out to reveal the truth. Much to my amazement it was perfect! I couldn’t be happier.
I have been reflecting on the process of creating my scooter buddy and I realize that the journey of love has been very similar for me. I feel safe and courageous with my specific list of ideas of what love looks like and am confident that all of my loving traits will make me quite a catch. I am kind, gentle, forgiving, empathetic, caring, patient, and of course, a good listener. I am confident I am ready to love! That theory has been tested recently in a new relationship. Like the trip to the fabric store, I feel lost, overwhelmed, scared, panicked and humiliated, as I enter my later years and realize that I am an amateur at love. I like to be right. I don’t like to make mistakes. I am impatient when my lover doesn’t understand me. I keep making the same mistakes over and over again, with greater consequences than using a seam ripper. Many tears have been shed by my beloved, because I’m more concerned about my own needs. I want to run away and quit. I find myself frustrated at how little I know about being in a loving relationship. I’m often afraid of a love disaster. I have had many moments where I just want to have a chat with the love guru so that I have all I need to make sure all is perfect, especially me.
I am a student. Love is my teacher. I am committed to experience the pain and pleasure that co-exist in the journey. I am learning about myself and that love is hard. It takes work and time. I do not have a detailed instruction manual. As much as that scares me, it also has freed me to be human. I can make mistakes and cut away the unhealthy parts of me that keep me from receiving and giving love. It’s okay to not have the answers. I am more beautiful when I have questions. Love is a lot like my scooter buddy project, there are do-overs, mistakes, adjustments along the way. It takes humility and courage to love, and the truth that is unfolding is how perfect and incompetent I am. One day I hope to walk into the fabric store accepting that I will never be an expert and applauding myself for my courage.
Metamorphosis, Shift, Revolution, Conversion…
A chrysalis that protects and shelters while nature awaits new birth.
Uncertainty hovers over the observer of this process,
How long will it take?
Will it fail or fly?
The shedding of the past in hope for future,
filled with freedom, flight, color, beauty, transformation.
Movement, trusting in the process and vision.
Bursting forth!
First breath,
Exhilarating, unknown joy,
arriving and transfigured…….
The Unmaking 